The detail rushed forward.
The men jerked the fallen, twisting and writhing and bleeding bodies about.
The first man they reached was not dead. He was still groaning, and the breath was coming in great, quick gasps.
A pistol was placed at his breast and every chamber was emptied.
“He’s dead now,” laughed one of the crowd.
Other men, wounded, bleeding, moaning and begging, were caught, turned over and pistols emptied into their bodies.
But the shooting had made so much noise that the mob concluded its safety lay in flight.
The Negroes were quickly examined and with a parting shot and a volley of oaths of warning the mob left the warehouse and rushed to their horses.
The men ran from the warehouse to the little spot in the center of the town, where horses are tied by countrymen and merchants.
They mounted quickly and began their ride for life.